The Ghost of Camberwell
by Sandylee007
Summary: Sherlock and John encounter one of their most mysterious cases yet when a woman comes seeking for help. She claims that her house is haunted. Quite soon the bizarre chase becomes dangerous. Will they find the culprit before it's too late? Or is there something on the move that even the world's only consulting detective can't explain? RATING MAY RISE TO M
1. Intro – Do You Believe in Ghosts?

A/N: It's been AGES since I last typed pure-blooded 'Sherlock' fic. But now… This idea's been haunting me for a while and now it refused to be stalled any longer. (smirks sheepishly)

WARNINGS: Potential supernatural stuff, blood, gore, horror elements, RATING MAY RISE TO M, language… Ya know, the usual lot.

DISCLAIMER: Now excuse me while I try to keep myself from dying of laughter…! NOPE! If I owned ANYTHING we wouldn't have to wait for series 4 for this horribly long.

 **THIS STORY TAKES PLACE** during series three, before 'His Last Vow'.

Okay, because stalling isn't kind and I don't want to chicken out… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

 _ **The Ghost of Camberwell**_

* * *

Intro – Do You Believe in Ghosts?

* * *

Stephanie Jenkins owned two clothing shops. At the age of thirty-eight she'd already been an independent entrepreneur for almost thirteen years. She was a determined, smart woman of reason. No children, one lousy ex-husband, a beautiful house and a cat. She wasn't particularly accomplished when it came to anything but her job. With her long grown, chocolate brown hair, pale blue eyes and short, average built form she was pretty but not strikingly beautiful. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about her. And she was very happy that way.

Sometimes the least remarkable of us may have the most spectacular tales to tell.

It began almost right after her divorce. She moved to the house on a miserably rainy of October. At first she was able to blame the misplaced items on the fact that she was still settling in. She began to suspect that something was wrong when she found her sharpest kitchen knife struck hard on her kitchen table. Something that looked all too much like dried blood stained the metal.

She called the police, of course. They investigated everything but there were no signs of anyone having broken in. And the knife had disappeared mysteriously before they arrived. Along with the damage it should've caused on the table. Upon leaving the police officers told her, as kindly as possible, to not waste their time again.

Stephanie wondered if she was going mad. More items were misplaced. And her kitchen stool was tampered with. The fall she took when the stool cracked into three pieces underneath her nearly broke her leg.

Stephanie also began to feel a presence. Whenever she was alone she could've sworn that someone was watching her. Sometimes she was almost certain that she heard steps pacing around the house restlessly. One night she was just about to fall asleep when she felt the bed dip under someone's weight. The arrival was far too heavy to be her cat. When she felt a warm breath against her face she broke into a scream. That was when she packed up a few of her things, her cat and headed to spend the night with her friend Annika. In the light of the following day they were able to laugh it off as a trick of her imagination, or perhaps a nightmare.

But whatever mysterious companion Stephanie possibly had wasn't done yet.

The sense of a presence grew stronger and stronger. More items were found from bizarre places. One evening Stephanie came home to discover the entire contents of her book shelve from the floor. It was a small miracle, perhaps, that it took until the following October before she was finally convinced that it wasn't all in her head. That she needed help.

The house was oddly cold when she entered. She tried to flick on the lights, only to discover that apparently the power was out. Well, there was a storm the night before.

She stepped in and tried to look around. Something was making the hair in the back of her neck stand up. "Maya?" she called out. "Darling, where are you?"

Her cat didn't come to her. And after a few moments she heard her pet growling. Alarmed and starting to tremble she followed the sound, unsure if she really wanted to find out what was going on. "Maya?"

One heavy step at a time she approached the house's main living room, with each move feeling a breath on her neck. Her heart hammered furiously, no matter how hard she tried to tell herself that she was being stupid. Which was becoming increasingly difficult when she could almost certainly smell blood. Finally she had to clasp a hand to her lips to keep herself from gasping or whimpering. Her feet were barely steady enough to carry her weight when she stood right beside where her cat was still growling at something she couldn't see yet.

And then, without any warning, the lights were on.

Stephanie yelped and shielded her eyes, blinded for a very long moment. Then, slowly yet inevitably, her vision began to return. Quite soon she wished it hadn't.

There was what looked like ashes all over the floor. And to the wall before her, with huge red letters that'd certainly been made with blood, had been written a number and a few words. A very simple message.

' _5_

 _get out of my house_

 _the living don't belong here_ '

Stephanie's scream ran through the whole building and to the street outside.

* * *

Dr. John Watson opened the door to 221B with a healthy amount of caution. The first thing greeting him was a possibly long ago filled mug of tea, abandoned to a small table nearby. There was what looked suspiciously lot like a toe in it, bobbing happily in the already cold liquid.

John bit back a groan. _Yes, I definitely miss this._ How worrying was it that a part of him actually meant it?

"Sherlock?" No reply. Not exactly a surprise. "I was actually working. Meeting actual patients." On his way towards the living room he passed by a blood caked harpoon. _Not another sodding pig…!_ "So I'm expecting this to be…" He trailed off.

There were several shocking elements right before his eyes. Sherlock was dressed and there was the look of an excited blood hound in the detective's eyes. A promising case, without a doubt, maybe even a nine. And then there was the fact that Sherlock wasn't alone. It wasn't stunning that the woman sitting there, trembling visibly and incredibly pale, was obviously shaken. What surprised John was that she'd made it past the evidence of Sherlock's experiments without deciding to run away immediately. How desperate was she?

"Did you bring the tea?"

It took several seconds before John realized that the words had been aimed at him. He frowned at Sherlock. "What tea?"

The detective rolled his eyes. "The one I asked for half an hour ago! Do keep up, John."

John wasn't sure if he wanted to chuckle or groan. He ended up giving his friend a dry look. "I just got here, Sherlock." He then focused on the woman. "Sherlock sent me a message, said that there's a case. I'm Dr…"

The woman nodded. If she wasn't so scared she might've smiled. "Yes, I know. I've been reading your blog for a while, now. That's how I found you two. I'm Stephanie Jenkins." She gulped loudly and looked away, as though embarrassed. It wasn't until she rubbed at her arm John noticed the bruises. Almost like marks left by fingers. "Dr. Watson… Do you believe in ghosts?"

John stared at her. Then snorted before he could stop himself. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. But… No, I don't."

Stephanie finally looked at him, met his eyes. There was no mirth in her gaze. "I didn't believe in them either until two days ago."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear…! That sounds spooky enough. Supernatural or not? Who knows.

Soooooo…. The word's yours! Would you like to read more? Was that any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! I'd LOVE to hear from you.

Whatever the case, thank you so much for reading! Maybe I'll meet you again. Now, I've really gotta go and get some sleep…!

Take care!


	2. Friendly Welcomes

A/N: A couple of days later than I would've wanted, but… Here I am with another chapter! Hooray?

THANK YOU, so very much, for your reviews, listings and adoration! Horror isn't my usual genre so it means a lot that you're all out there, willing to join the ride. So thank you!

Awkay, because there's no real point in stalling… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Friendly Welcomes

* * *

The house in Camberwell certainly didn't seem inviting. It wasn't the house itself, really, even if it appeared old and could've used some new paint. It was the air around it. Although there were still roses in the garden and the grass was green it suddenly felt as cold as in the middle of December. If John had believed that a place could be haunted this one most certainly would've been.

Stephanie Jenkins seemed to feel the same way. She hesitated even though she was going to her own home. "So… Welcome, I suppose." Her smile was tighter than it should've been and her hand trembled miserably while she attempted to open the house's door. "I'm sorry if it's a bit…" She shrugged and bit her lower lip, hard. "I've spent the past couple of days at my friend's."

"And you didn't call the police?" Sherlock didn't appear impressed. His eyes scanned the door sharply while he pushed his way in before it was opened properly.

Stephanie's cheeks gained some color. "I… didn't think they'd believe me." She ran a hand through her hair. "Just… Come in and I'll explain. I haven't touched anything."

If the air outside the house had been suffocating the one inside it was a thousand times more so. John had an inexplainable feeling that a million pairs of eyes watched him while he followed their newest employer. The fact that it was unnaturally cold didn't help matters.

"The heat is on", Stephanie assured him, as though reading his mind. He couldn't see her face but definitely noticed the tension in her shoulders. "For some reason the temperature just refuses to rise. I've called a man to give it a look."

The lack of heat wasn't the only problem. For some reason the house also seemed unnaturally dark. Or maybe John's imagination was taking a hold of him. He glanced towards Sherlock to see if the detective shared his observation but the sleuth's expression was as unreadable as always. His friend seemed to be deep in thought. John felt tempted to guess that something was bothering Sherlock but that would've been stating the obvious. What about this wouldn't have bothered anyone?

To seal his final conclusion they reached the living room. And froze. Even Sherlock seemed to stiffen a little.

Stephanie gulped, her eyes widening. "That… That wasn't there when I left to get you."

Sherlock gritted his teeth. One could actually see the wheels turning. "I thought you said you didn't touch anything."

" _I_ didn't", Stephanie confirmed.

The dust and text Stephanie had described… They'd been wiped away completely, with such accuracy that there didn't seem to be a fleck left. There was, however, a new addition. Such that stilled John's heart for a second.

' _4_

 _Sherlock Holmes_

 _John Watson_

 _LEAVE NOW_ '

"What…?" John choked out.

"Isn't it obvious?" Having pulled himself together in a remarkable fashion Sherlock began taking samples from the dust and the red substance. There was a poorly hidden gleam of excitement in the man's eyes. "Whoever is doing this knows that we're in the game."

Stephanie swallowed. "I'm so sorry! I should've never…!"

"No, no!" Sherlock hurried before John got the slightest chance of stopping him. The detective's eyes were shining in a eerily familiar way. "Someone pretending to be an actual ghost? This is Christmas!"

"Timing, Sherlock!"

* * *

Quite understandably Stephanie needed a few moments to collect herself after the newest attack. John found Sherlock stood outside, watching the house. "Any theories?"

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Five." The detective's eyes narrowed as they seemed to spot something on the building that wasn't visible to anyone else. "Or no, make that six."

John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We need to get this sorted." His gaze focused on the house although it was the last thing he wanted to see. "Because this is starting to get to me."

"Hmph." Without a warning Sherlock was walking away. "Make yourself useful and talk to Stephanie. Find out if she can still tell us anything valuable."

John stared at his friend incredulously. "What? You're just leaving?"

"We need some answers that I can't obtain here." Sherlock had somehow already managed to summon a cab. "If you see a ghost, shoot." It didn't sound like a joke.

* * *

John had hated the house from the moment he saw it. The feeling escalated to something far beyond after Sherlock's departure. He was a doctor and a soldier, for crying out loud! He shouldn't have allowed this to mess with his head.

It was just another case, simple as that. Ghosts don't exist. It was a mantra he kept repeating to himself, over and over and over again.

Now if only his infuriatingly over-active imagination would believe as much…

Despite the events that took place there long before Stephanie came to seek help they both found the kitchen the least threatening spot in the house. At least it had the most light. Everything necessary for brewing tea was also there.

"Do you have any idea who could want to hurt you?" he inquired, observing the liquid that'd soon boil.

Stephanie sighed. "My ex-husband would probably be the most logical option. We… didn't exactly part on the best of terms." She shrugged. "Goes to show that we didn't know how to let go before it was already too late."

John nodded slowly. On the last minute he reminded himself what Sherlock always said about theorizing without all the facts. "If you don't mind me asking… Why did you…?" He left the rest hanging.

Stephanie looked away. "We were seventeen when we got together. Just brats. We grew up and got fed up with each other." When she met his eyes there was a thunderstorm of emotions in them. "We both cheated. I found out first."

There was no delicate or discreet way to comment that so John chose not to. Instead he let the questions continue. "Do you think he'd be capable of…" He gestured towards the space around them. "… this?"

Stephanie gritted her teeth. "Less than a year ago I would've said 'no'. But now…" She shook her head and rubbed her face roughly with both hands. "I don't know. Maybe he'll just write a character to symbolize me in one of his books." Seeing his confusion she clarified. "He's an author."

"Ah…!" Looking at her, John felt an instinctive need to comfort her. "Whoever it is doing this… We'll find out. Sherlock may be one of the most infuriating people on this planet but he's also impossibly brilliant."

Stephanie smiled. How about that. "You just sounded almost affectionate."

John groaned and rolled his eyes. "Please, don't assume that we're a couple. The internet is already full of those bloody… Johnlock shippers and my landlady may be the biggest one." That was when he noticed the catfood. "What happened to your cat?"

Some sadness could be seen in Stephanie's eyes. "I had to leave the poor thing to Annika's care. She's my friend." She chuckled mirthlessly. "I don't even dare to bring my cat here. How pathetic is that?"

John shrugged. "You lived about a year in a haunted house. Refused to be chased away. There's nothing pathetic about that."

Stephanie grinned, her lips opening. That was until they were startled by the teapot beginning to whistle. They broke into nervous laughs as soon as they realized what caused the noise.

" _That_ was pathetic", John admitted.

Stephanie snorted, one hand pressed against her chest. "'Pathetic'? My heart stopped."

John was just pouring the tea into two mugs when they heard it. At first the steps were tiny and quiet, as though a trick of imagination. Then they gained speed, sounding like they everywhere at once. The scratching came next. It wasn't nails on a chalkboard. This… was something far more horrifying. Didn't seem to come from this world. Quite soon all that was accompanied by heartbreaking, inconsolable sobs.

John gulped. Without even noticing it he reached his hand towards where his gun was hiding. "Bloody hell…!"

Stephanie gritted her teeth and shook her head. "Oh, no. That's just the beginning. It's going to get…" She never got the chance to finish.

Because just then 'worse' came.

After exactly five seconds of utter silence from their tormentor's part all hell broke loose. There was such a shriek that would've stilled anyone's blood. It would've been easy to believe that such a sound came from a wild beast or from hell itself. The message was unmistakable, even though the words were barely comprehensible.

" _LEAVE ME ALONE!_ "

Without a warning the windows around them exploded. Razor sharp shards of glass were sent flying everywhere. They shone like diamonds when light touched them.

* * *

Molly Hooper sighed heavily while staring at her newest guest. Unknown male, based on what was left of his corpse she suspected that he was around his mid-thirties. He'd been found from Thames that morning. Her immediate guess was that he'd been underwater for at least three days. It was a task for her and the Yard's finest to figure out how he ended up there and who he was.

Molly leaned closer, even pressed a nearly tender hand on his swollen shoulder. "Don't worry", she reassured her long gone companion. "We'll find out what happened to you. And your name. You can't be a John Doe forever." She rummaged through her equipment. "Would you mind terribly if I called you Frank in the meantime? He was my fictional friend when I was…"

Completely out of the blue the corpse began to emit bizarre, nauseating noises. Molly jumped and almost cried out until she realized that it was just the body unleashing some gas. She shivered, trying to calm down her racing heart. "Alright, alright." She swallowed twice, a brand new tremor crossing her from head to toe. "Ted, then."

This time her guest chose to remain silent.

All of a sudden Molly felt that she was no longer alone. Hair in the back of her neck rose while she lifted her gaze to see a dark figure looming by the room's doorway. She was less than an inch from screaming until shadows moved enough to reveal Sherlock's face.

Molly gasped, only then realizing that she'd been holding her breath. It took a considerable amount of time before she managed to speak. "What… are you doing here?"

Sherlock stepped inside. His eyes never strayed towards their deceased observer. "I need your help." Sharp and to the point. "I'm working on a case and I have some samples I need you to take a look at. I'd do it myself but there are… experiments that turned out to be time sensitive."

Molly's eyes widened a fraction when he gave her the mentioned samples. She really should've grown used to this by now… "Is that… blood? And ashes?" Why did she sound so shocked after all the years she'd known him?

Sherlock looked at her like she'd just said something incredibly idiotic. "Yes, obviously. Find out if they're from a human being. And quickly. It seems to be a matter of life and death." With those cryptic words he spun around and began to walk away, his coat billowing like a war flag.

Molly stared first at the samples he left behind. Then at his distancing back. "What is the case about?"

"John and I are after a very angry ghost."

* * *

Sherlock just made it out of the elevator and was planning on leaving the building when his cell phone began to ring. He frowned at the caller ID and picked without wasting a second. "John? Is something wrong?"

At first the other end was completely quiet. Then a horrific, blood stilling scratching sound began. Followed by a couple of raspy breaths. The hissed words that came didn't sound like they'd been uttered by a human being. " _Stay away, Sherlock Holmes._ "

With that threat the narrow hallway's lights went out, leaving it pitch black.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: So… Yup. I guess that was a lil' bit spooky. And guess what? It'll get spookier!

That wasn't one of my longest chapters but it felt like the right place to leave it. A nice cliffie and all. And, I'll just shut up, now…

SO! It's YOUR turn to let your voices be heard, if ya wanna. Good? Bad? TERRIFYINGLY bad? Do drop a line or do in the box down below! At the moment it looks like this wants to be a seven or six shot. How does that sound?

Believe it or not, but after finishing up this one it's time for me to start heading towards the bed. You should see how I'm yawning…! Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll join in then.

Take care, and stay safe!

* * *

Guest: I'm thrilled that you enjoyed! Hopefully the next one meets your expectations. Yup, this is definitely an October fic. (smirks)

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	3. There's Always a Bloody Hound

A/N: Phew! It took longer than I expected to finish up with this but here I am. Yay?

First, though… THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your reviews, listings and adoration for this story! Horror's a new typing genre for me, even if I've watched a disturbing amount of horror movies. Your support feels better than you could ever imagine! (HUGS)

Awkay, because I doubt you came here for my ramblings… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

There's Always a Bloody Hound

* * *

John wasn't sure where nightmares ended and reality began. At first it was Afganistan all over again. Explosions, gunshots, the sun burning his skin, the sand filling his lungs…

And then something was licking him.

John wasn't able to stop the tremor that ran through him, his imagination eagerly filling in what he couldn't see with his eyes closed. A warm, moist tongue first licked at his ear. Then advanced lower, reaching his throat. The unwanted touch almost caressed where his pulse was most likely jumping frantically. With a small, purring growl, who or whatever it was taunting him settled to listen. Refusing to open his eyes John tried to fight the trembling and the instinctive feeling to _fight_ , to attack the intruder. Warm breath tickled his skin while the being inspecting him leaned closer still, clearly savouring his miraculously even exhales. At first something soft brushed John's neck. Then it was a nail, perhaps something even more threatening. Soon the touch became hard enough to cut through the sensitive skin, forming a shallow wound. That was when John realized that enough was enough.

Fast and efficient, John grabbed his gun and pointed at the exact same second his eyes flew open. At first he squinted at the light assaulting his line of vision. Soon he began to distinguish a dark, human shaped figure looming nearby.

"… the gun down, John!" Oh yes, that voice was familiar. But what…? "Everything's alright, now. Put it away." Only a careful, experienced ear could've caught the hint of a shock hiding behind Sherlock's tone. And that was what finally snapped the doctor out of the haze.

John gasped loudly, the gun slipping from his grasp with even more noise. For a few second he could only stare at his friend, who appeared even paler than usual. "Why…?" He swallowed, hating how hoarse he sounded. "Why were you licking me?"

Sherlock frowned. Was that alarm in the detective's eyes? John wouldn't have blamed him. This was all going over his head. "Why would I have been licking you?" The sleuth inspected him with a piercing gaze. "You do have wounds. Did you hit your head?"

How in the world was John supposed to know that? He didn't have any idea what just happened. Focusing the best as he could he did a small self examination. Yes, Sherlock was right about the wounds. His leg, back and both arms stung. Not badly but enough to signal that something wasn't perfectly alright. His head… Oh yes, that one hurt, too. It was actually starting to pound now that he was growing more aware. But he was fairly sure that he didn't have a concussion. Or broken bones. He'd had worse at a pub-brawl.

Which left him with the question of what the bloody hell happened. John remembered talking to Stephanie and then… His eyes widened. "Stephanie…?"

For a few seconds Sherlock stared at him like he'd spoken in some foreign language. "She's virtually unharmed. You managed to protect her from the glass. She was already awake when I arrived." The detective observed with a frown as he began to sit up. "Are you alright?"

John shrugged. "Irritated and creeped out, yeah. But… I'm fine." He glanced towards his friend, spotting something he couldn't quite put his finger on. "You?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth so hard that it had to hurt. "Whoever attacked you used your phone to call me. Told me to stay away."

"Yeah, that's what… it, whatever, has been doing. Telling us to go away." Stephanie's eyes were alight with fury. Pale as she was she appeared truly dangerous.

Sherlock nodded slowly, deep in thought. "We're definitely dealing with humans." It was more of a mockery than anything else, as though there'd never been a doubt. "According to my experience ghosts don't use cell phones. Or result to breaking and entry. I saw evidence of someone having picked the front door's lock as soon as we arrived." The man sniffed, appearing insulted. "An amateur, obviously. The traces couldn't have been more obvious. Also, a ghost wouldn't have needed these…" The dectective showed them a tiny device. "… to break the windows."

John frowned. He leaned closer to inspect the curious item. "What is it?"

"It transmits vibrations and sound waves that are inaudible to human ears." Sherlock's eyes flickered on Stephanie. "I'd presume that your cat may have been behaving strangely. Whoever did these must've tested them." Sherlock activated the item, making it buzz on his hand. Somewhere a neighbor's dog began to bark loudly. "There were at least twenty of them. Enough to shatter the windows. Combined with a conveniently timed audio track, such meant for humans, they can cause a quite amusing little magic trick."

Stephanie had to process that information. She bit her lower lip. "How didn't we notice them?"

"They were placed to strategic spots." Sherlock pocketed the tiny transparent bag containing the object. "The intruder had the time to grab the rest of them before you woke up and I arrived."

John and Stephanie stared, trying to comprehend what they just heard. The thought of someone having roamed around the house while they were there, unconscious and defenseless, didn't sit well with them. The former soldier then felt a slight wave of embarrassment. Of course he hadn't been convinced of a supernatural explanation but…

Sherlock, however, wasn't finished. "We're looking for a man with small feet. Or alternatively a woman who wore men's shoes." Seeing their stun the detective huffed with irritation. "Don't you _see_ anything…? The dust in the living room! True, the intruder had cleaned up almost perfectly. But there were traces of it, just in sight when light hit them from the correct angle. There were also footprints outside, right beside the windows. Based on the marks left to the grass that person has repeated the routine inspection for a while."

Stephanie blanched, her mind making unnerving connections. "You mean… That creep has been walking out there, watching me?" Like having a simple breaking and entry wasn't bad enough. This has escalated to definite stalking.

Sherlock nodded. Clearly oblivious to her distress while his mind was completely focused on other matters. "Yes."

John winced inwardly. He felt a brief desire to squeeze their unfortunate client's shoulder to offer support but knew that the moment wasn't right. "We'll get him", he promised gently, slipping easily to the comfortingly familiar role of a carer, fixer. "It's only a matter of finding solid evidence against him."

Stephanie nodded sharply. Clearly taking a hold of his words with all her might. "I know. So… Are we going to see my ex-husband?"

"Yes, uh… In a minute." John looked towards his clothes, noticing the blood stains on them. "I… may have to wash up a little."

* * *

John's hands were eerily steady when he splashed cool water on his face. He felt sweaty and flushed, adrenaline was still speeding through his veins. The most disturbing part of all was that he actually kind of liked it.

Well, he'd always been the type that runs towards danger…

That was when he noticed the wound on his neck, where he'd felt something sharp when he was practically unconscious. It was small and shallow but there nonetheless. Almost… like a scratch mark. The doctor frowned, leaning closer to the mirror to see better.

John was so preoccupied by his inspection that it took a while before he actually registered the faint knocking sounds that seemed to be growing stronger by the minute. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sherlock, whatever it is you're doing…" He was cut off when the lights flickered and it occurred to him that perhaps this time it wasn't his friend. His head snapped up.

He only imagined the man he saw through the mirror's reflection. Of course he did. Staring at him, his face ashen…

John stood, frozen. Barely remembered to breathe. Then the lights flickered, only for a second. The bizarre man was stood right behind him. The intruder wasn't touching him – of course he wasn't, he was only a trick of his imagination, he wasn't really there, he wasn't real – but John could've sworn that he felt…

"GET OUT OF HERE!" was shouted right at John's ear.

Then the lights flickered again. This time they stayed off a little longer. When they came back on the threatening figure was gone. And John had no idea what he'd just seen and what to believe in anymore.

Maybe he did have a concussion, after all.

* * *

Sherlock still had a couple of theories as to what was going on in the strange, chilling house. But in order to test them fully he needed some time to snoop around as privately as possible. So when Stephanie and John prepared for leaving to meet her ex-husband Sherlock's mind whirred around all the things he'd need to do. When Stephanie asked him to come along he declined as politely as was possible for him. John would've been proud, had the man been there to hear.

Stephanie frowned. "Are you sure that it's a good idea for you stay here alone? What if that bastard…?"

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. "I'm not afraid of ghosts. And I'm even less afraid of morons." Although sometimes those could be surprisingly dangerous.

Stephanie never got the chance to respond before John walked in. Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed at the look on his friend's face. "Something wrong?"

"Of course not." John was lying. He could always tell when John was lying. "This case is just getting on my nerves." Well, at least that was honest.

Sherlock didn't have the time to pry further. He approached his blogger when Stephanie left the room to get her coat. "Don't trust her", he adviced under his breath. "We still don't know what's happening here and what part she plays in it."

John nodded. There was a dark look in the man's eyes. "Honestly, Sherlock? Right now I don't even trust myself." The former soldier's jawline tightened. "Be careful. If there's someone in this house…"

Sherlock felt his own eyes flash in a predatory way. "Don't worry, John. I wouldn't expect anything less."

* * *

Yes, Stephanie's house was terrifying. But the one of her ex-husband wasn't much better. She found the carefully hidden spare-key easily and sighed. "He hates changes", she explained. "I knew that it'd be in the same place."

Despite everything John just had to grin at that. Even with the fact that his heart was hammering and he had a distinct feeling that something horrible would happen soon. Half subconsciously his hand reached out towards his gun when they entered.

"Cole?" Stephanie called out. Her voice was so tight that it nearly broke. The door creaked when it was opened wider. There was no response. "I'm sorry about stopping by unannounced but I have some…" She trailed off. John couldn't blame her. They both froze.

The whole house was in a state of chaos. Furniture had been knocked over, smaller things had been broken… All signs pointed towards a massive fight having taken place. And then they heard low, threatening growling. As they turned to look Scarlet yelped, John shifted so that he was shielding her. Even if his heart just skipped a beat or two.

A massive, snow white dog had appeared without a sound and was now glaring at them in a obviously aggressive stance. The animal was growling, teeth revealed. The most horrific detail, however, were the blood stains all over the dog's fur.

Stephanie gasped. Then charged forward, fear transforming into terror. "Duffy, oh my god…! What happened to you?" Seeing his shock from the one taking over her she explained. "This… This is my dog. And Cole's. We fought bitterly over her."

John, slowly beginning to feel he wasn't in acute danger, began to move forward until his foot hit something. Looking down he saw a framed photograph. And a man on the picture who appeared far too familiar for comfort. He gulped loudly. "Who… Who is that?"

Stephanie was so preoccupied by calming Duffy, and herself, that she paid barely any attention to him. "That's Cole." She did seem to notice his inner turmoil, though. "You… look like you've seen him before. Have you two met?"

The picture was of Cole and Stephanie posing at a beach. John saw the man's tattoo, a sapphire blue scorpion on the back. But he could only see the face. Face which he'd seen before, in what had to be a trick of his imagination. On a bathroom mirror less than an hour earlier. "Yeah…", he managed. "We've met." Yet again his hand was far more steady than it should've been when he took his cell phone and dialed numbers. Thankfully the one he was calling picked up quickly. "Hey, Greg." He gritted his teeth, first staring at the blood soaked canine who whined miserably under Stephanie's shaking, calming hands, then focused on the picture. "There's… I need you to see something."

" _John, what's…?_ " Gregory Lestrade groaned loudly. " _Oh no… Please, don't tell me that Sherlock actually snapped and killed someone._ "

Under different circumstances John might've asked why _that_ was the DI's first guess. As it was he had far more important matters at hand. "Not yet." He made sure that Stephanie wasn't listening. "We're… after a ghost. And there may be a murder."

* * *

Molly decided to start another round with her newest guest after finishing a very late lunch. She owed the poor guy that she found out what happened to him. Even if something about him, call it a sixth sense or whatever… was screaming alerts, almost.

She sighed, staring at the corpse that water had tormented. "So… I already took a look your front. Would you mind if I turn you to your side?"

The man offered no complaints. Professional as always she grabbed him, turning him so that his backside was visible. Instantly a wince appeared to her face. "You poor thing…!"

The cuts were deep and so long that they went almost from her neck to all the way down his back. One, two, three, four, five of them. And in the middle of it something that instantly caught her attention.

A tattoo, a sapphire colored scorpion.

A grin appeared to Molly's face. "Well how about that…! We're one step closer to finding out who you are."

* * *

In the meantime Sherlock went through the house methodically. No room, closet or corner was to be left uninspected. His eyes burned like those of a bloodhound.

There were several possibilities as to what was going on. Two of them seemed more likely than the other theories. Perhaps someone was trying to smoke Stephanie out of the house because there was something valuable or shady in it. Or then she'd done something that'd earned her this unpleasant attention. Sherlock was planning on continuing the search until he found out which one was the case.

It was like going through a maze. One shadowy hallway followed the last. Until he reached the basement floor and a door that'd been locked ridiculously firmly. Sherlock had been picking locks since he was six. It was no challenge to him.

What he found was a long, narrow hallway. Moisture lingered there thickly, pressing on the stone walls like a blanket. He tried to switch on the lights but nothing happened. Not a big surprise, there. Fortunately he'd arrived with a flashlight.

After ten steps there was heavy breathing. Then sounds of steps. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He turned around gracefully, making his coat billow, and pointed with his flashlight. He shivered a little at what he discovered. There was another set of footprints following his on the dust that covered the floor.

He let the flashlight's beam circle around. No one was to be seen. His jaw tightened. "I don't believe in ghosts", he announced, his voice perfectly controlled. "So save us both a lot of time and effort and come out."

All of a sudden the lights were flicked on. They blinded him entirely. At the exact same moment a sinister woman's voice spoke out, from directly behind him. "Very well, Sherlock Holmes. Let's play."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear…! So what IS going on? The fact stands is that Molly's guest – Cole, as we now know – was killed several days ago. So what is this?! And will our boys make it through this horror story in one piece?

Sooooo… Thoughts? Comments? PLEASE, do drop a line or two on the box down below! It'd mean INSANELY much to me.

Awkay, I've REALLY gotta start heading for my bed, now. Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll join in for that one.

Take care!

* * *

BlueSky12: Hooray! I'm THRILLED that you think so. (BEAMS) We'll see just what's ahead next in this chilling tale…

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	4. Fair Warnings

A/N: Phew! I'm SO SORRY that it took me some extra days to update. I've been traveling and it was FANTASTIC (I actually got to see London, woo-hoo!) but unfortunately it kept me away from typing. I would've loved to give you guys a Halloween update but as it turned out I'm a bit less than a day late. Oh well… At least I'm back now. Hooray?

THANK YOU, so very much, for you reviews, love and support for this fic! As I've stated I haven't typed that many horror-fics, despite LOVING the genre. It's a thrill to have you all joining this wicked ride with me!

Awkay, it's getting REALLY late so I'll have to go now. I REALLY hope that this turns out worth the wait!

* * *

Fair Warnings

* * *

The attacker was quick, Sherlock had to give her that much credit. But he'd been prepared for a trap so he was even faster. Trying not to let the utter lack of light get to him he reliad on other senses. Following the sounds of her harsh breaths and the faint scent of vanilla radiating from her he spun around and struck. She responded with a kick that momentarily struck all air from him.

"You… should've never come here", she hissed. "You should've _never_ tried to play with me. Because right now… you and Dr. Watson are in my way. And if there's one thing you wouldn't want… it's to be in my way. You'll wish that you left when I told you to."

Sherlock recovered by gritting his teeth and they danced around each other a couple of more times until he had her pinned at a wall.

Solid, very much real. And yes, indeed, breathing heavily. This attacker most certainly wasn't a ghost.

But she was as slippery as one. There was a soft, sigh like swoosh. And all of a sudden his hand met nothing but the stone wall. A flash later the lights were on once more, blinding him.

And then a door opened. Reacting instinctively he prepared to fight. The response he got wasn't the one he expected. "Jesus…! Easy, Sherlock! It's me."

Slowly regaining his eyesight Sherlock was forced to show a faint hint of surprise as Greg's face came to view. His eyebrows furrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Greg's gaze didn't promise anything pleasant. "John called me. Apparently your little ghost hunt turned into an actual murder investigation, so… official routes can't exactly be avoided."

Sherlock's frown deepened. He'd known to expect development of some sort but perhaps not exactly this. "Who is the victim?"

"Cole McDunley. Your client's ex-husband." Greg ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Right now she's identifying the body, although it isn't in the best condition." That was when the DI noticed his disheveled appearance. The man's eyebrow bounced up. "What happened to you?"

Sherlock glared at the wall beside him. There wasn't a trace of any sort of a door or hidden mechanism. Yet he knew perfectly well that people couldn't walk through walls. "That's what I'd like to know."

* * *

John couldn't really imagine that anyone would enjoy visiting morgues very much. Escorting Stephanie to one certainly wasn't the highlight of his day. She was trembling like a leaf the entire way there. And when Molly, with a sad and nearly apologetic look on her face, revealed the body Stephanie's whole being seemed to crumble. John was barely fast enough to catch her before she would've slumped to the floor, her face incredibly pale and one hand pressed firmly againts her mouth.

Stephanie kept nodding furiously, as though unaware of the fact that she nearly collapsed. "Yes… Yes… It's Cole. It's definitely Cole. That scar on his shoulder…"

Molly nodded and covered the body as quickly as she could. "Alright. Thank you."

John sighed and led Stephanie to a nearby chair. For quite a long while it was quiet while he held a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You alright?" he inquired at last.

Stephanie nodded once more, this time a great deal less frantically. There was a dazed look in her eyes. "I just… I can't believe that he's gone." She rubbed her face hard with both hands. "He… That bastard… He broke my heart, shattered it to pieces. But… He's been in my life since I was… what, twelve years old… That he's gone…" She shook her head, as though the very thought had made it hurt.

John sighed. He exchanged a look and a small nod with Molly before she left the room. "I get it", he assured her softly. As well as he possibly could, anyway.

"Hmm", was Stephanie's only answer.

They both jumped when John's phone bleeped. He sighed at the message he found. "It's Greg."

Stephanie frowned. "DI Lestrade?" Then the whole situation seemed to register properly. Her shoulders slumped. "Oh yeah, the statement…"

John's eyebrows furrowed. "Look… If you don't feel up to it…"

Stephanie shrugged. "There's no use in stalling it, is there? Besides, I really need to get this over with." She gave him a tiny, feeble smile although there were unshed tears in her eyes. "Thanks, for caring."

John didn't really know what to say to that so he simply shrugged. With that they began to make their way out of the room and the building that seemed to hold a reek of death all of a sudden. During the journey John couldn't help feeling like there was someone watching him. It made him tighten the arm that he'd wrapped around Stephanie.

As soon as they made it outside they saw Greg waiting for them. The DI gave Stephanie a look of sympathy and helped her to a civil vehicle, then focused on John. "His royal grumpiness is still in that bloody house of horrors. The last time I saw him he looked like he'd seen a ghost."

John felt something very uncomfortable squirm in the pit of his stomach. "Chances are that he did", he muttered, so quietly that his friend didn't hear him. He then went on a bit more loudly. "Do you need a statement from me, too?"

Greg gave him a look. "Is there anything that I could add to an official police report?" It looked like they both knew the answer.

John felt tempted to giggle, despite everything. Ridiculous, all of this. Or maybe he was in a state of shock. "Not really."

"Then go to Sherlock. Try to keep him from tearing the house apart until it's been investigated by the police." Greg then frowned, worry appearing to the man's eyes. "Are you alright?"

John blinked twice with surprise. "Yeah, sure. Why?"

Greg gestured towards his nose. Following his example John brushed his own nose carefully. His fingers came back bloodied. Grumbling some well chosen words under his breath he fished a tissue from his pocket. "I'm fine. This is annoying, though."

Deciding that he didn't want to head back in a police car John caught himself a cab. Just before slipping into it he saw something that froze him to the spot for a moment. On the other side of the street stood who couldn't be anyone but Cole McDunley. The dead man's eyes were ablaze and his lips moved deliberately slowly. Enough so to allow John to catch the words.

' _Do not go back!_ '

Too bad John had no intention to listen. He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again the ghost, or perhaps a trick of his imagination, was gone. Doing his best to forget about it entirely John jumped into the vehicle. For some reason he felt a great deal colder than before.

* * *

Sherlock wandered around his Mind Palace, trying to piece together clues and find valuable information. Instead all that seemed to come to him were infuriating flashes.

Inexplainable mixed with natural. His own imagination seemed to be playing tricks on him. And then, without a warning, James Moriarty was there. Snickering at him.

"Awww, what's the matter? It's frustrating, isn't it. Not being able to deduce things." His mind's version of the criminal mastermind leaned closer, invaded his own personal space.

Sherlock growled. His eyes narrowed. "Get… out… of my head", he hissed.

Moriarty giggled. "There's something you don't know…", the criminal taunted.

* * *

John's nosebleed stopped about five minutes after he entered the house. Since then he attempted to keep himself busy trying to come up with theories as to what was going on. He couldn't figure out anything that wouldn't require a supernatural interference. Or him going mad.

In about an hour Stephanie returned. After making sure that she was as fine as could be expected and resting John returned to his friend. The detective was exactly in the same position to which he'd left the man.

Yes, John knew all too well how Sherlock could be when the man got lost into his Mind Palace, but this was getting ridiculous.

"Sherlock." Receiving next to no reaction John went on, a bit more loudly this time. "Sherlock, you're starting to scare me. If you don't respond in the next ten seconds…"

Oh, Sherlock did respond. The detective bounced up at a speed that would've made anyone else feel dizzy and dashed towards the door. "I've come to realize that this house impairs my capability to form rational conclusions."

John hurried to catch up with his friend. He groaned, nearly tripping on the carpet in his haste. "Slow down!" he half snapped, unable to understand why he still bothered to be irritated. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Sherlock was already hailing for a cab. As very often happened it seemed to appear out of thin air. Creepy, really, if one paused to think about it. "I've neglected to take one critically important step", the sleuth announced, visibly furious with himself. "The one step that may end up making all the difference."

John's eyebrow rose as he watched his friend board the cab. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Sherlock's eyes blazed when they met his. "How did Stephanie end up here? Who lived in this house before her, John?" It wasn't until then the detective seemed to realize that the doctor was about to join him. "No, stay here. Keep an eye on Stephanie. And be sure to keep your gun at ready."

John frowned. He was starting to have an inkling feeling that he wasn't going to like this. "Why would that be?"

Sherlock's eyes flashed. "Because I have every reason to suspect that soon enough we'll find ourselves in the presence of a cold blooded murderer." With that the vehicle's door was slammed closed and it sped away, as though absolutely no further answers were needed.

* * *

Using several different routes – some of them helped by people who owed him favors, some of them faintly on the wrong side of the law – Sherlock discovered that the previous owner of Stephanie's house was a very old woman named Tilda Snow. She'd perished of a heart attack in that chilling house, with only her home care nurse present. The circumstances alone weren't suspicion arousing. An old lady with a weak heart dying of a heart attack? It couldn't have been more natural than that. Yet Sherlock didn't believe in coincidences.

Staring at the documents before him he gritted his teeth and leaned his chin to his hands, deep in thought. His brain whirred as he tried to piece together the facts. Attempted to make sense of what little was known so far.

It seemed that he was up against a female opponent. Assuming that what he imagined he'd experienced could be relied on. But was it Stephanie or someone else entirely? And most importantly, why did Mrs. Snow die?

His musings were interrupted when his cell phone began to ring. He frowned upon discovering that it was an unfamiliar number. It didn't take a lot of deduction skills to guess that he wouldn't like what he'd hear. "Who is this?"

" _Didn't I tell you that you should've never tried to play with me?_ " a woman's voice hissed. " _He'll pay, Sherlock Holmes. You'll never see him again._ "

Sherlock's chest tightened. His voice was far sharper than usual. "Who is this?"

She giggled. It sounded chillingly innocent. " _Your worst nightmare."_

* * *

John wasn't entirely sure how long had passed when all of a sudden the house's doorbell rang. Tense and on alert he walked to open. He didn't relax fully even after he found a beautiful, petite woman with long, blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes stood behind it.

The woman seemed surprised to see him. Understandable enough. "I… was looking for Stephanie." Seeing his growing alarm she hurried to explain. "I'm Annika, her best friend."

Finally John dared to relax, albeit not completely. He gave her a smile. "She's mentioned you." He moved to let her step inside. "Sorry about that. Things have been… a bit tense lately."

Annika sighed. There was sadness in her eyes. "I'd imagine, with the murder and all."

John's eyebrow bounced up. Something akin to alarm buzzed inside him although he wasn't fully certain why. "How would you know about it?"

"Stephanie texted me." Annika sounded honest enough. She looked around. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Sleeping. It's been a long day." John nodded towards the kitchen. "Fancy a cuppa?"

"Always."

While starting the tea John kept half an eye on his companion. "So… What do you do for a living? Stephanie hasn't said."

"I'm a nurse." Annika was inspecting the recently broken window. He couldn't quite see the look on her face. "I work at home care." She sounded amused and something else he couldn't quite put a finger on. "And you are very, very nosy."

John grinned apologetically. Just then the tea pot whistled, demanding his attention. "Sorry. Occupational hazard. I'm a doctor. And Sherlock's blogger."

"Yes, I'm aware. I've been reading your blog. And… That, indeed, is your biggest problem, Dr. Watson." The sound of a gun being readied was entirely too recognizeable. "You ask too many questions. Has anyone ever told you that it's unhealthy?"

John's hand was already on his firearm. He wondered if he'd be fast enough. "Actually… Usually I'm told the exact opposite", he admitted in a tight, barely familiar voice. That, or that he kept asking the wrong questions.

Sherlock would kill him for this if Annika failed.

His other hand was working swiftly inside the covers of his pocket and he'd never been so glad that he'd put his cell phone on a silent mode. He counted carefully through the mad beating of his heart until he'd reached Greg's number. His hand wasn't shaking even the slightest bit while he pressed 'dial'.

"Why go through with it like this, though?" he mused out loud. "There's something in this house you want… Why not just take it and leave the matter be? Why bother tormenting Stephanie, driving her towards insanity?" It clicked in a flash now that he'd voiced the question. "Because this is personal to you."

Annika scoffed. "Personal? Yeah, you could say that." She took a step closer, just one. Not enough to turn the tables to his favor. "Two and a half years ago… I was engaged, you know. I had all these stupid dreams about the future, about how my life would be. And then… Then I made the mistake of introducing him to my best friend." For a long, terrifying moment she was absolutely quiet. "Well, you're a doctor. I'm sure that you have enough brain cells to do the math."

John swallowed, wondering what his next move should be. It was frustrating to have his gun so close yet knowing that there was no way he'd be able to use it. "So… You decided to kill her? You decided that she deserved that?" He went on without giving her the chance to answer. "What about Cole?"

"He developed a conscience. That became a problem." Annika was audibly becoming irritated. "Look, as nice as it is to chat with you… There's something I have to get done before any more prying eyes appear."

"You'll never get away with it", John hissed, squeezing the table before him so hard that his knuckles turned white.

Annika chuckled heartily. "Don't worry about me so much. I'll be able to make it look like a suicide. As for you… You're nothing but unfortuante collateral damage." She sighed. "Too bad. You seem like a nice person."

The gunshot, nothing more than a sigh as it sped through a silencer, shouldn't have surprised him but it did. He gasped when the horrible, mind numbing pain struck him, seeming to creep into every single bit of his body all at once. He tried to hold on to the table, struggled to remain upright, but in the end the floor rushed to meet him.

There, on the thin line between consciousness and complete oblivion, John saw something that he would've never been able to explain. Perhaps it was nothing but illusions or hallucinations. Annika was just about to fire the gun again when, without a warning, she gasped loudly, her eyes widening. The firearm slipped from her grasp while she clawed at her throat, as though attempting to remove something that was suffocating her. When the attempts didn't bear fruit the wild terror in her eyes grew, making her attempts even more desperate. But by then it was already too late because she was floating. Higher, higher, until she'd nearly reached the ceiling. By then her nose was bleeding and the color of her face had turned into something absolutely horrible. And then, all of a sudden, her head turned quickly and violently to an unnatural position. All her struggles ended there.

John's eyes slipped closed, then. There was no fear, shock, disgust, sorrow or relief. Only immense exhaustion. It felt like a hand had brushed his face but it must've been a trick of his imagination. That was the last thing he experienced before darkness came.

And there they lay, John in a pool of his own blood and Annika nearby with a broken neck. Both looking deviously lot like they'd been asleep. Two more victims of the Ghost of Camberwell.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear…! So one half natural, one half… supernatural? Or is it? Maybe? What IS going on, and what's going to happen to our boys, especially John?

PLEASE, do drop a line or two before you go! It'd be FANTASTIC to hear from you.

THERE'LL BE A ONE MORE CHAPTER AND A TINY EPILOGUE, OR TWO MORE CHAPTERS. But in any case we're approaching the end. Dang, it can't believe it!  
Awkay, I really need to head towards my bed now. I really hope that I'll see you all next time!

Take care!


End file.
